Bad Boys
by Foreword
Summary: This story is set in the six month period before Chris Keller is arrested and sentenced to 88 years in Oswald.  He's hanging out with Ronnie Barlog, who will shows up in Season 4 of Oz.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is set in the six month period before Chris Keller is captured and sentenced to Oswald State Prison. **

Bad Boys

_Bad boys, bad boys,_

_Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do_

_When they come for you_

_Ian Lewis _

Keller slowly woke up, groaning when he rolled over and felt a stabbing pain in his temple. _How the hell much did I drink last night? _He opened his eyes, wincing at the cold light from the window. As usual, he'd forgotten to draw the blinds.

He struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, hunched over, head in hands. His mouth tasted like an army had marched through it and his throat was scratchy. The events of the evening before came trickling back in small flashes. At a payphone, calling Bonnie, only to have her hang up on him. Driving his bike to her house and pounding on her door. Yelling like a lunatic that she had to let him in; had to let him explain. He'd kept at it until the upstairs neighbor had opened his window and threatened to call the cops. Bonnie had never even acknowledged he was there. Sure, she was pissed that he'd emptied her checking account, but he'd had a good reason. It wasn't his fault that his plan hadn't worked out; it was that stupid ass Ronnie who'd dropped the ball.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled to the bathroom to take a piss. He contemplated taking a shower but it didn't seem worth the effort. _Fuck! I don't even have any fucking aspirin_. He ran the tap in the sink until the water was cold then bent to drink directly from the faucet. He splashed some more on his face and went back to bed. Picking up the remote, he turned on the television.

"The police still have no leads in the death of Kevin McCarthy, an insurance adjustor who was found murdered last week on the Lafayette Lake Trail," droned a newscaster. "Anyone who has any information about this case is asked to call the State Police at…."

Chris changed the channel until he settled on a talk show featuring a mother and daughter arguing. The daughter was yelling about the mother coming on to her boyfriend. _Someone more dysfunctional than I am! Well, maybe not._

A loud banging at the door woke him out of a deep sleep. The room was dim in the waning sunlight from the one window. He'd slept the day away. The television blared in the background, now showing a game show of contestants trying to outwit school children. He struggled to his feet and stumbled over to the door in his boxers, peering out of the peephole. It was the manger of the shit-hole complex.

"Keller!" The pounding continued. "I've got messages for you."

Chris opened the door, scratching his bare chest. He glowered at the manager, a doddering old man in with dirty glasses and straggly hair.

"Ain't you a pretty sight?" scoffed the manager, handing him two pieces of paper. "That kid Ronnie keeps calling here for you; I keep tellin' him I ain't your fucking answering service."

Chris took the papers and started to shut the door. "And your rent's due tomorrow," said the old man, pushing back against the door to keep it open. Chris pushed harder until the door slammed in the old man's face. "Asshole," he heard from the other side of the door.

He took the papers over to the bed and read the scrawled messages. _Call Ronnie ASAP. Ronnie needs to talk to you NOW._

He took a quick shower and dressed. Sleeping hadn't eased the pounding in his head any, but the warm water helped some. He drank some more water and pulled on his boots and jacket.

It took him three tries to locate Ronnie, finally finding him in a bar on Second Street. He was sitting at the bar with a beer, watching ESPN. Chris took the stool next to him, leaning on his elbows with his back to the bar. He flashed a grin at Ronnie, who looked relieved to see him.

"You got good news for me?" asked Chris.

"Geez, Chris, I been calling all day," whined Ronnie. "That asshole at the desk finally give you my messages?"

"I'm here, aren't I? What's so urgent?"

"Johnson came through after all." Ronnie dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. "Said his old lady wouldn't let it drop and he'd order the damn tiles."

Chris whistled and took the cash, quickly counting the bills. _Twenty-five hundred. The old dickwad will get his rent after all. _"When does he expect delivery?"

"I told him it would be awhile. And he thinks he knows someone else who might want to order some."

Chris nodded and slapped the kid on the back. "Good job, Ronnie. I knew you could do it." He peeled five hundred dollar bills off the wad and tucked them back into the kid's pocket.

Chris had wiped out Bonnie's checking account in order to buy some boxes of custom Italian tiles from a guy he knew from his time in Lardner, who'd stolen them from a construction job. The tiles were real pieces of art; it would cost tens of thousands to floor a whole kitchen with them. The idea was to show them to potential customers, saying a large shipment was arriving from Italy in six weeks and if they paid up front, they'd get a great deal. The bottom line: there were no more tiles coming and the customers would be strung along as long as possible. They couldn't go to the cops and complain because they'd been told up front the tiles were stolen. He'd needed someone like Ronnie, who worked in construction and had a plausible connection to the supplier, to do the legwork for him.

"Let's blow this joint," suggested Chris, giving Ronnie a good-natured shove on the shoulder. "We'll go get something to eat."

Ronnie drained his beer and stood, "Sounds good, Keller. I'm starving."

Over dinner at a small Italian restaurant, they discussed other possible marks for the tile scam. It was important to hit up people who were somewhat removed from both of them or they'd be hounded forever for refunds on the tiles that never showed up. For the plan to work, they had to make the offer, get the money and make themselves scarce. Between them, they worked up a list of five more possible customers.

"Man, how do you think this stuff up?" asked Ronnie, pushing his plate away. "You're a fucking genius when it comes to ripping people off."

"We've all got talents," grinned Chris. He liked Ronnie. The kid wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but he wasn't afraid of anything, and his good looks went a long way in charming potential marks. Chris had known him since he was a teenager. Ronnie had lived in the same complex where Chris had lived with Valerie and Chris had taken him under his wing when he realized his old man was knocking him around. Ten years later and they were still tight; Ronnie looked up to him like he would an older brother. Sometimes Chris felt a twinge at leading the kid down the road to temptation, but never for very long. It was an eat or get eaten world and the sooner the kid learned the skills to get by, the better off they'd both be.

After dinner, they went to a bar in their old neighborhood. They were sharing a pitcher of beer and playing darts in a back corner when a voice behind them asked: "Hey there, Ronnie. Who's your friend?"

The two men turned to see a young blonde woman standing behind them, holding a mixed drink. She was tall and thin, wearing tight jeans and shirt that showed her midriff.

"Hey, Tiff," said Ronnie, giving her a hug. "I haven't seen you in ages. This is my friend, Chris." Turning to Chris he explained, "Tiff and I went to high school together."

Chris nodded a hello. This blonde babe was hot. _I wouldn't mind hitting some of that!_

"Nice to meet ya," said Tiff, giving him a big smile. "I've never seen you around here before."

Chris gave her his best smile, the one that always knocked socks off. "Lucky for you. I'm the kind of guy your mother warned you to stay away from."

"Really?' Tiff laughed and took a step closer. "I never was very good at taking advice from my mother."

They invited her to join their table and game. Ronnie went up to the bar to get Tiff another drink, giving Chris a few minutes alone with her.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a dive like this, all by herself?" he asked, leaning in close.

Tiff looked around and gave a vague wave of her hand. "Oh, I was supposed to meet a friend here, but she hasn't shown up."

Chris nodded, knowing her story was bullshit. He knew the type. She was lonely and looking for some attention. Well, he and Ronnie could provide that. _All the attention she wants, and then some_.

They drank, played darts and laughed. Chris was his most charming self, while Ronnie seemed content to sit back and let his older friend take the stage. This wasn't the first time they'd double-tagged a girl in a bar. As it drew near closing, Chris leaned in close and whispered in the girl's ear. "You live alone?"

She giggled at his breath in her ear and gave him an appraising look. "No, but my roommate is at her boyfriend's for the night."

Chris gave a broad grin. "Well, that's sounds awful lonely. Why don't you invite the two of us over to keep you company?"

"Both of you?" She looked from one to the other and then back at Chris, giving him a slow, lazy smile. "Oh, what the hell! Why not?"

Her apartment was close enough that they left their vehicles, Ronnie's truck and Chris's bike, and walked to her small place. Tiff was unsteady on her feet—no big surprise after all of the vodka tonics she put away—so Chris put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. She snuggled into his armpit. He hoped she didn't pass out when they got to her place. They passed a small market on the way and Ronnie went in to buy a six-pack of beer.

Tiff's apartment was small but clean and obviously occupied by women. Once inside, Tiff went to a stereo next to the television and put in a CD of some hip hop crap. Chris gritted his teeth and smiled. Ronnie dropped onto the couch and tossed a beer to Chris, opening one for himself.

The music changed to a song with a slower tempo (_Thank God!) _and Tiff sidled up to Chris, putting her arms around his neck and leaning against him. "Dance with me, handsome?" she asked, looking up at him with what he supposed was meant to be a sexy look. _The bitch is WASTED!_

They swayed for a few minutes, and then Chris bent to kiss her. She reacted instantly, pressing the length of her body up against his. Ronnie sat on the couch, drinking beer and watching them. He knew the routine.

"Tiff," Chris kissed his way up her neck to her ear.

"Hmmm? She answered, her eyes half closed.

"Give Ronnie a blow job." Her head snapped back and she looked at him, confused. He kissed her again, and then whispered. "Take care of him, and then we'll go in the other room. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

She seemed to think about it for a minute, then gave him a sloppy kiss, and moved away sit on the couch. Chris gave Ronnie a big grin, and took a long swallow of his beer_. It's going to be an interesting night._


	2. Chapter 2

Aftermath

_Yeah the Bad Boys are always catching my eye  
I said the bad boys are always spinning my mind  
Even though I know they're no good for me  
It's the risk I take for the chemistry  
With the bad boys always catching my eye_

_Alexandra Burke/Flo Rida  
_

He was covered in debris. A piece of fabric, something light but irritating, lay over his face and his lower body was pinned to the ground by something heavy. He struggled to lift it off—_what the fuck, a beam? A tree? _Whatever it was, it was warm and_-hairy? _

Chris's eyes flew open. He wasn't, as he had been dreaming, trapped in a collapsed building. He brushed away the long blond hair that was in his face and lifted his head to look around. Tiff laid sound asleep next to him, her mouth slightly open and makeup smeared across her face. In the light of day, she wasn't half as pretty as she had been in the bar the night before. _They never are._

Ronnie lay on the other side of him, his leg thrown across Chris's hips. Chris pushed him roughly off. Ronnie just rolled over and began snoring.

Head pounding, Chris crawled out from between the passed out pair and staggered to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet and put his elbows on his knees so he could hold his pounding head. He and Ronnie had followed their usual pattern the night before. No point in asking a woman if she wanted to do them both; no one ever said no to them in the heat of the moment. So he'd watched while Tiff gave Ronnie a blow job on the couch and then took her into the bedroom. Ronnie waited until he'd fucked her once, and then joined them. By then, Chris had offered her some Ecstasy and she was more than happy to do whatever they wanted.

_I'm getting too old for this shit._ Chris walked back into the bedroom and gathered his clothes from the floor. He took them to the living room and dressing quickly, let himself out the front door. _Let the kid deal with the slut when she wakes up and realizes what she let us do._

He walked the two blocks back to the bar where his motorcycle was still parked out front. The cool morning air felt invigorating. He stopped at the bodega for a cup of strong coffee and stood outside, drinking and watching the world coming awake around him. When the coffee was gone, he tossed the cup in the trash and walked the rest of the way to his bike.

When he got to Bonnie's apartment building, she was just coming out of the front door, headed for her car in the lot. When she saw him pulling up on his bike, her face clouded over and she looked back toward the building, obviously wondering if she had time to get back inside before he could reach her.

He stopped the bike and pulled off his helmet. "Bonnie, wait," he called, parking the bike and hurrying over.

"I don't want to talk to you, Chris." She said firmly. "Please leave."

"Bonnie…." He said softly, giving her the trademark Keller smile. "You know you don't mean that. Besides, I want to give you something." He pulled a wad of bills out of his front pocket and offered it to her. "It's not all of it, but I'll pay the rest back as soon as I can."

She took the money, but stepped back when he started to reach for her. "Chris, don't, I mean it." Her blue eyes were brimming with tears. "I've already seen my lawyer. I'm divorcing you."

He looked at her. Bonnie was a large woman but incredibly pretty. When he'd originally met her, he'd seen her as an easy target. With her size, she had major self esteem issues. It hasn't taken long for her to fall in love with him. What he hadn't counted on was how much that love would mean to him, or that he would love her back. No matter what he'd done, Bonnie still loved him. They'd divorced once, less than a year of marriage. That time it had been his idea. He was going to jail and he didn't want her wasting her life waiting around for him. When he got out, he'd looked her up, unable to stay away. They'd been married for over two years this time, but she'd thrown him out when she realized he'd wiped out her checking account with yet another of his schemes. He thought it was only a matter of time until she took him back. _Maybe not. Who said love was forever? Yeah, right._

"Again?" he said, his blue eyes now ice cold. "What ever happened to "for better or worse?"

"Chris…" her blues were pleading. "I can't do this anymore. I love you, but…." Her voice hardened. "Look at you. You reek of beer. You're a mess. You haven't even been home yet, have you?

"Home?" he snorted in derision. "And just where would that be, Bonnie? I thought my home was with you."

She shook her head, as if erasing the sound of his voice from her mind, her long hair tossing around her pretty face. "Goodbye, Chris." She started to walk toward her car. He watched her go, and then got back on his bike, loudly revving the engine and squealing out of the parking lot in front of her, narrowly missing a man walking his dog.

The pathetic old man of a manager was at the desk when he got back. He started to say something but Chris held up his hand.

"Spare me the lecture," he said; pulling what remained of the money Ronnie had given him the night before out of his pocket. "I've got your fucking rent. Not that this dump is worth it."

He threw two of the hundred dollar bills down on the counter. "This week's and next. Knock yourself out."

"Asshole," he heard the old coot mutter as he walked away. Chris turned on his heel and went back, leaning over the counter to grab the front of his shirt. "You got something to say to me, old man?"

The manager shook his head, fear apparent in his bloodshot eyes.

"I didn't think so," Chris dropped him back on his stool and strode down the hall to his pathetic excuse for a room. _Why'd I bother to pay Bonnie back? I should've kept the money and moved out of this dump._

Inside the room, he threw himself down on the bed, intending to go back to sleep. Soon, he was up and pacing around the small room. He had to think of a way to earn some money, maybe get out of town altogether. Maybe a fresh start was what he needed, someplace different where no one knew all of the schemes he'd pulled, what a shithead he was. Ronnie was taking forever to line up buyers for this Italian tile con. There had to be something quicker.

He stripped off his clothes—Bonnie was right, he did reek. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. Who exactly was Chris Keller? He'd seen more, done more, than most people ever experienced in a lifetime, but very little of it good. He could charm the socks off any woman he met, but here he was at 35, with three—no, now four ex-wives (if you counted Bonnie twice) - behind him and as alone as ever.

_You've got to clean up your act, Keller. _He smiled at his reflection, gave himself that killer Keller smile, charm personified, if charm had perfect white teeth and twinkling blue eyes. _Who do you think you're kidding, man? You ain't ever going to be anything but a con man._


End file.
